


allegory of fate

by timelessidyll



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Minor Swearing, Slow Burn, but he's a graduated graphic design major, but no violence, just a lil, mentioned unrequited jungwoo/taeil, mentions of gangs, no real confession jhfgds, uhhh i never said taeyong's major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessidyll/pseuds/timelessidyll
Summary: "Are you okay?" he blurts before he can tell himself to consider the situation, saying the first thing that popped into his head."Fan-fucking-tastic, you know? I just love bleeding to death." That's a lie, but even without his ability, Taeil could've figured that out. He blinks owlishly as he tries to think of what to do next. He reaches for a strawberry."Would a strawberry make you feel better?""No, it fucking wouldn't. I think my arm is broken."





	allegory of fate

**Author's Note:**

> if you can tell me what the title is a reference to, you get a prize!
> 
> also sorry for taking so long to put out 2tae content, depression Sucks
> 
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/timelessidyll)   
>  [my curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/timelessidyll)

Taeil is a relatively normal person. Or at least he seems that way, and regardless of what Jungwoo thinks, he's not going to change that perception of him. He does a pretty good job of hiding the fact that he can tell when someone is lying, but he attributes most of that to the fact that his ability is extremely easy to keep secret. Lucky for him, because people lie a lot.

 

There aren't many like him, and if there are, they keep themselves out of the public eye like he does. He always feels a stab of pity for the ones that get the short end of the straw and end up with something like super strength or elemental abilities. They're the ones on the news, arrested or killed, made to seem barbaric and animalistic. There's a whole police unit dedicated to tracking these people down, who treat their kills like badges of honor, and it makes him sick. He sticks to his medical career and stays quiet.

 

Obviously, trouble catches up to him.

 

"Ms. Johnson is a bitch, Kun. I have no clue how she got hired." He plops onto his couch with a bowl of strawberries and bites one angrily, pretending it was his professor's head.

 

"Why do you hate her so much? Sounds like she's just doing her job." There's static on the line as Kun shuffles something around.

 

"Because it's only the beginning of the semester and she's already given three students extra homework from the textbook. Get this, they were all either foreign exchange students or transfers and had no idea where anything was."

 

"With your moral conscience, I'm surprised you didn't go for law."

 

Taeil laughs sarcastically and picks up another strawberry. "I can't even defend myself without wanting to burst into tears. Defending someone else is a joke."

 

"Give yourself some credit. Just last week, you managed to deny whipped cream on your overpriced Starbucks Frappuccino."

 

"That's not an argument, Kun. And anyway, I still felt guilty about it afterward. I said it so angrily, I think I offended her." Kun wheezes on his end of the line and Taeil rolls his eyes. He's about to defend himself again when he hears a distinct thump in his bedroom. He freezes with his mouth half-open, straining to hear something else. A groan reaches his ears soon after, and he stifles a shriek. That definitely came from inside his apartment, and the groan means that it's definitely a person and not some misplaced item falling.

 

"–and we went to get coffee afterward. Bless Dongyoung, he knows exactly how to make a shitty day better."

 

"Listen, Kun,” he says, eyes never straying from the opening to his room, “I'm sorry for not hearing a word you just said, but I think there’s a stranger in my bedroom and I'm about to die." Kun is silent for a worrying amount of time.

 

"Do I get your collection of wine bottles?" is what he finally asks.

 

Taeil scoffs. "Of course not. Yuta already called dibs."

 

"Well then, good luck I guess." 

 

“Wait! I can’t die without anyone knowing how it happens. I’m gonna keep you on the line.” He’s probably going to die regardless of what he does, so might as well see what’ll kill him.

 

“Fine with me. I’m not doing anything worthwhile anyway.”

 

Taeil takes a deep breath and walks through the doorway, fully expecting an armed burglar.

 

There's a bleeding man on the floor. That's not the only thing that makes him stop in his tracks. Said bleeding man is holding a paintbrush – of all things – and is covered in paint. Maybe Taeil could’ve handled it. Maybe he could’ve thought more clearly and handled the situation with more caution. All rational thought flies out of his mind when he remembers that he has a white carpet.

 

"Fuck," the man groans again, and even though Taeil’s got twenty different other things to take care of, like the fact that the stains in his carpet are going to be a bitch to get out, he's still stuck staring at the stranger in disbelief.

 

"Are you okay?" he blurts before he can tell himself to consider the situation, saying the first thing that popped into his head.

 

"Fan-fucking-tastic, you know? I just love bleeding to death." That's a lie, but even without his ability, Taeil could've figured that out. He blinks owlishly as he tries to think of what to do next. He reaches for a strawberry.

 

"Would a strawberry make you feel better?"

 

"No, it fucking wouldn't. I think my arm is broken." Another lie, but Taeil knows this because his arm didn't look broken at all. He would know - two semesters of anatomy taught him that much at the very least.

 

"Right."

 

"Are you going to help me or not?"

 

"How did you get here?" he counters, finally coming to his senses and realizing that this person could still pose a threat. He may be training to become a doctor, but he didn't have to save someone willing to hurt him.

 

"I broke in through the window."

 

"You're lying. Just tell me and I'll help you with your arm, which is not broken. Probably a sprain, but a closer examination might help." The stranger glares at him and Taeil crosses his arms. "I'm a senior med student, so I'm probably the best you're gonna get without a hospital."

 

"Fine. I came out of the painting." That's the truth, which leaves Taeil even more confused. But a deal is a deal, so he gets to work.

 

"You're a shitty doctor," the stranger complains while Taeil wraps his arm in bandages to staunch the bleeding and secure it to prevent further injury.

 

"Well, you see, I only have a first-aid kit on me right now, so you tell me what you can do with a roll of gauze, bandages, and some ointment," he snarks back. The stranger is quiet. "That's what I thought." He finishes securing his sprained – not broken – wrist and steps back to put distance between him and the stranger. He doesn't trust him yet, although anyone with bubblegum hair can't be too diabolical.

 

"So now that I've pretty much taken care of you for a good," he glances at the clock, "thirty minutes of my day and you fell out of a painting in my bedroom, care to tell me your name? So that I know who to file a police report against?"

 

The stranger arches an eyebrow. "You believed that?" Taeil cocks his head secretively, but really it's a cover to come up with some bullshit excuse to fix his blunder.

 

"I’m running on caffeine and pure spite, that story doesn’t really faze me. So spill."

 

"I'm Taeyong," he finally concedes, and it turns out he'd decided to say his actual name.

 

"See, that wasn't so hard. I'm Taeil." Now that Taeil has completely exhausted his reservoir of social skills, he's at a loss how to interact with Taeyong, who he now has the slightest more familiarity with, who he is positive has abilities. But he has to get him to admit it first. He's saved from asking something embarrassing like, "What do you think about seagulls?" when Taeyong speaks first.

 

"Where exactly am I?"

 

"In my apartment?"

 

"I'll clarify,” he says with another glare. “What city am I in?"

 

"San Francisco?" Taeyong deflates with a large exhale, and Taeil stares at him like he's grown an extra head, or at the very least like he's high. "Are you okay?"

 

"I mean–"

 

"–Give me a straight answer."

 

"You're not my therapist. But I'm fine."

 

"Good, because that means you can tell me how you used a painting to get inside my apartment and how you got those injuries." Taeyong's face goes blank, almost as good as Jungwoo’s poker face. Taeil holds up a hand so he can finish. "Listen, you have paint splatters all over your pants and shirt that I now have to find a way to remove from my carpet–"

 

"–Put lukewarm water mixed with a teaspoon of mild detergent on the stain," Taeyong recites immediately, "followed up by vacuuming when the detergent and water are dry." Taeil blinks at the interruption.

 

"Oh. Um, can you write that down? I'll do it later." Taeyong nods and grabs the paper and pen that Taeil hands him. He takes a look at his right arm again and then looks at Taeil.

 

"I think you need to write it."

 

"Oh. Yeah, that's probably a better idea." After Taeyong repeats the instructions and Taeil has put the paper away somewhere, he continues from where he left off. "You're also gripping that paintbrush like a lifeline, which I would say isn't something a lot of people do."

 

"Never mind, you're not a therapist, you're more of a psychoanalyzer."

 

"Just tell me how you managed to jump out of a fucking painting and why all of this," he gestures at Taeyong's injured body, “happened."

 

"Why should I?" Taeyong counters. "I can just leave and you won't have to deal with me again."

 

"Because I'm assuming you have some sort of ability, and if you're not careful, you're gonna end up dead," he says coldly, watching Taeyong tense up. "You got lucky this time, but if you keep being this reckless, you're gonna get in a situation you won't be able to get out of all nice and patched up."

 

"You think I don't know that?" It's tinged with anger and indignation, but Taeil doesn't back down.

 

"It looks like you don't care. And you've already given away the fact you have an ability, so what does it matter if you tell me about it?" They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Taeyong's lips thin, showing his irritation.

 

"Yeah, I have an ability," he finally confirms, "but I'm not going to tell you about it. I'm not going to see you again, so it doesn't matter." Taeil stays quiet, realizing Taeyong is completely adamant, and watches him get up from the chair and approach a nearby framed painting of a flower. Here, Taeil almost doesn't believe his eyes. Taeyong dips the brush into – into? – the painting and pulls it back, revealing its lavender-painted tip. He draws on the painting with it, making a shaky circle using his left hand with a few symbols surrounding it that he can’t understand.

 

And then he disappears before Taeil can blink.

 

“What the fuck,” he says out loud, forgetting that Kun’s still on speaker.

 

“That’s reassuring,” his voice says from behind him, and Taeil whirls around, expecting his friend to actually be standing behind him. He only sees his phone lying on the table, right where he’d left it before tending to Taeyong’s wounds.

 

“I’m so confused,” he tells him, picking the phone up and tapping the speaker button to turn it off. “He just vanished.”

 

“Vanished? Like ‘Jungwoo vanishing’ vanished?”

 

“No! He drew some weird symbols around a circle and then,” he swings his arm in a dismissive gesture, “he was gone!”

 

“So,” Kun pauses for a moment. “Like ‘my vanishing’ vanished?”

 

“No,” Taeil sighs, getting more frustrated with each repeat. “He went over to that ugly flower painting you gave me three years ago–”

 

“–It’s not that ugly–”

 

“–Put his paintbrush inside of it–”

 

“–Hold on what–”

 

“–I’m getting to that, shut up! And for some fucking reason it actually comes out with real paint on it, he paints some weird symbols, and he’s gone.” Kun’s quiet for a while and Taeil starts pacing.

 

“You know,” Kun begins, “I didn’t drink nearly enough last night to be able to deal with this, but give me a few minutes and I’ll be right over.”

 

“Why do you even need a few minutes, you can teleport.”

 

“Because I’m still in bed and haven’t even put on a shirt, that’s why you rotten tomato.”

 

Kun pops into Taeil’s living room the promised few minutes later, which ended up being four minutes and six seconds. It’s quite literally a bang, like Taeil’s eardrums had popped from the pressure when he appeared. He takes a few seconds to wince and rub his ears to ease the momentary pain before turning his attention to Kun. Kun steals a strawberry from the bowl on the table and practically throws himself onto the couch before turning to Taeil languidly.

 

“So if I heard everything correctly, there’s some asshole named Taeyong with powers who randomly came in through a painting and disappeared the same way.” Taeil nods glumly, thinking back to the paint splatters below the painting in his room. “Great, now it’s time to move on.”

 

After a shocked silence, Taeil sputters, “I’m sorry, what?” Kun stares at him, unamused.

 

“There’s no point getting hung up on it, Taeil. There’s like a ninety-eight percent chance you’ll never see him again in your whole life, so why worry about someone who isn’t your problem?” He pouts slightly, annoyed at being told off so logically. “Let’s call up Jungwoo and go out, maybe then you’ll mellow out a little,” Kun suggests.

 

“You shouldn’t be drinking so much, Kun,” Taeil says with a frown, but he’s already pulling his phone out. He’s resigned himself to spending the night listening to Kun rant about the cute transfer med student Taeil knows and stopping Jungwoo from getting his ass beat by people bigger than him.

 

Jungwoo picks up on the third ring, and the first thing Taeil says is, “Please limit yourself to three mixed drinks.” Kun cheers, raising what’s left of his strawberry in a makeshift toast. Taeil shoves his head into his free hand and groans. He knows that he’s gonna have a headache tomorrow, but Kun’s right about one thing: this is definitely going to help him forget about Taeyong.

 

As much as Taeil hates Ms. Johnson, he can’t deny she’s a good professor. He just thinks her attitude needs some major revamping. Not that he’d say it to her face, he thinks, using his hand as a headrest while she drones on about surgical procedures and the delicacies of the brain. Things that everyone in this class are already aware of but that she believes they need a refresher on because of whatever superiority complex she has. He’s almost zoned out fully while staring at the trees outside that are shedding their leaves when someone starts yelling in the hall outside, interrupting whatever Ms. Johnson was repeating for them this time. She fumes at the noise and immediately walks purposefully toward the door to give whoever it is a piece of her mind. When she opens the door, Taeil sees two guys across the hall from his vantage point in the back. His eyes widen when he sees familiar, albeit grown out, bubblegum pink hair.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ms. Johnson asks severely. “You’re both grown adults and should know better. Escort yourselves away before I call security.” Taeil took a moment to stop staring at Taeyong and look at the other man. He frowns in confusion when he recognizes Dongyoung and leans forward to see if he’s imaginging things. He isn’t, which doesn’t answer any of his questions. But figuring out how Dongyoung knows Taeyong sounds infinitely more appealing than listening to Ms. Johnson, so after Dongyoung bites out an apology, Taeyong remains silent, and Ms. Johnson huffs and leaves the doorway, Taeil bolts out of the classroom – as quietly as he can, of course, because he’d rather not get caught and yelled at in front of the whole class.

 

“Dongyoung!” he yells, sprinting toward them so he doesn’t have to search for them in the maze of corridors in this particular hall. His head snaps up at his name, and Taeil fills his mind with even more questions when he sees his angry expression and fist grabbing the front of Taeyong’s shirt. “Why are you yelling at this asshole in the middle of this hall? We’re halfway across campus from the art buildings.”

 

Dongyoung raises an eyebrow, prim and poised. “You were pretty quick to say Taeyong’s an asshole.”

 

“What else would I call him when he ruins my carpet with his paint stains and vanishes without an explanation?” Taeil asks. He turns his attention from Dongyoung’s surprise to Taeyong’s grimacing face. “So, what happened to not seeing me again, asshole?”

 

“The plan was to follow that,” Taeyong snaps, and Dongyoung’s fist tightens.

 

“You sure have an attitude for someone who managed to almost get caught an hour ago,” he growls. Taeil senses the direction the conversation is going and glances behind them suspiciously. He doesn’t see anyone but he doesn’t want to take a chance, and since Dongyoung seems more interested in chewing Taeyong up and spitting him out, he drags them both into a nearby empty lecture room. “The fuck were you thinking?”

 

“Well shit, Dongyoung, guess I wasn’t thinking at all!” Taeil watches them go at each other, slightly uncomfortable. He only knows Dongyoung through Kun, but he’d always thought Dongyoung was unaware of their abilities. As for Taeyong, he’d obviously done something shitty enough that Dongyoung needs to yell at him. Kun told him once that Dongyoung only yells when he’s really scared, although that was in the context of horror movies, so he’s not too sure how much it applies to the current situation.

 

“So uh,” Taeil interrupts awkwardly, pursing his lips closed when they stop shouting to look at him. “Anyone wanna tell me what Taeyong got himself into this time?”

 

“This time,” Taeyong scoffs, “as if you know me.”

 

“You had a sprained arm and more cuts than I could count the last time I saw you, so maybe you can shut your bitchass mouth for once,” Taeil says calmly, even with a clenched jaw.

 

Taeyong falls quiet with a scowl on his face as Dongyoung starts talking. “If I knew you had a tongue like that, Taeil, I would’ve asked Kun to bring you around more often. Maybe then Taeyong could’ve gotten it through his thick skull that he’s not some sort of vigilante superhero.” Dongyoung directs that last sentence toward the man in question with a sharp look. “What exactly were you thinking, trying to sabotage an investigation of a suspected powered?” Taeil’s eyebrows shoot up, shocked by the intensity of Taeyong’s act.

 

“Before you decide to start yelling,” Taeyong says to Taeil, “all I did was delete some files from the investigation so that they didn’t have a cohesive court case. The surveillance footage only gets kept for four days before the system automatically deletes it, so the only copies were in the police files.” Taeil thought that would be it. “I don’t need a second nagging parent.” He should’ve known better by now.

 

“Can you even hold a civil conversation?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

 

“No, he can’t,” Dongyoung says. “But I hope you understand that you’re putting yourself in more danger than it’s worth, Taeyong. You can’t save everyone.” Taeyong sets his jaw and stares at Dongyoung’s back with hard eyes as he walks out.

 

“He’s got a point,” Taeil says in the silence that follows. He’s not as accusatory anymore because he understands the feeling of helplessness that must drive Taeyong, but he doesn’t understand where all the hatred is from. “You can’t save everyone.”

 

“Shouldn’t you save who you can?” Taeyong asks, shifting his gaze to the ground. “If there’s even one person who you can help, shouldn’t you?” Taeil sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the desks.

 

“Not if it comes at your own cost,” he says finally, pushing himself off the desk again and toward the door. He swings his backpack onto his shoulder. “Don’t let it get it to your head, asshole.” For some reason, that pulls a strange, barking laugh from Taeyong as he leaves.

 

Jungwoo is one of Taeil’s oldest friends which, by extension, makes him one of his best friends which, by definition, means he worries more about Taeil’s lack of a love life than Taeil himself does. This was never a problem before they got to college because they lived in the backwaters of Arizona and had bigger issues – namely surviving the scorching heat and xenophobic classmates, but Taeil has suppressed the memories of the latter into the darkest corners of his mind, so he doesn’t think about that too hard. They grew up and out of that small town though, so now Jungwoo has nothing but time on his hands.

 

“Taeil, you’ll never find someone if you spend all your time doing dissertations,” he complains, staring at Taeil upside down from where he’s letting his head dangle off the edge of Taeil’s bed.

 

It’s the same spiel, and it makes Taeil roll his eyes tiredly as he hunched over his laptop, editing the document he’d created two weeks ago and had only finished yesterday. His desk is a mess of papers from his own crazy shufflings trying to find a particular lab report, and it’s beginning to annoy him. He doesn’t need Jungwoo adding on to it.

 

“I’m doing just fine with the single life, Woo. Just because you’re a sophomore and feel like you can slack off doesn’t mean I can.” He knows Jungwoo well enough that his best friend is pouting at him, even if he can’t actually see him right now.

 

“We need to get you a new hobby, something so that you’ll actually talk to people.” Jungwoo pulls himself up and jumps off of his bed.

 

“Jungwoo, my dissertation is due in three weeks and my thesis is a mess, I don’t have any time.” The exasperation is bleeding into his tone, and even though Taeil does his best to keep his personal stress out of his friend’s lives, the weight of his semester finals is beginning to pull down his guard. “I still need to send this off for peer editing with Yuta, and then I need to discuss it with my professor.” The idea of it is already causing a pulsing headache to form behind his eyes. He takes a moment to ignore Jungwoo and the constant knowledge of truths, truths, and more truths that are streaming through his mind to close his eyes and rub at the area above his eyebrows. The streak of mild pain that came with lies suddenly made an appearance in his mind, unbidden and unknown, and Taeil groans. He can tell by the sudden silence of truths that Jungwoo knows he’s feeling too overwhelmed for this.

 

“Hey listen,” Jungwoo says, more gently. He’s lowered his voice too, and even though it doesn’t really help, Taeil appreciates it. He’s trying. “Your thesis won’t grow wings and fly away, and it also won’t drag itself to the trashcan and delete itself. Cut yourself some slack and take a break. You’ll come back with a fresh mind and a better thesis idea.” Taeil hates the lightbulb of truth that lights up his consciousness at Jungwoo's words, mostly because his argument is scientifically proven and as such becomes a truth.

  
"Fine," he spits out, "let's go to the movies or something."

  
"Oh no, dear Taeil," Jungwoo sings. "We're going to the museum."

  
"The science museum?" he asks in a weak attempt to make the experience more enjoyable.

  
"The art museum!"

  
This is going to be a disaster, Taeil decides. It doesn’t help that the twinge in his gut reaffirms that idea.

 

The subway ride went smoothly, and they managed to find seats so they weren't crowded in the standing area. Jungwoo's excitedly discussing different historical eras of painting styles, and Taeil nods along where appropriate. Even when they get off, he doesn’t get the sense of being in immediate danger, so he relaxes a little of the tenseness he’s started with by the time they reach the museum gates. He insists on paying for the tickets despite the fact that it was Jungwoo’s idea, but Taeil’s stubborn, and eventually Jungwoo is the one who caves.

 

The art museum is full of abstract, modern artworks that he’s never seen before, and for a while it’s refreshing. The vivid colors that jump out at him, all vying for his attention, get on his nerves after some time though. So he moves onto classic artworks, leaving Jungwoo behind to look at pottery and sculptures. The colors are more muted in this area, partly because everyone was either sad or dying, but the details in these portraits draw him in more than the bold statements of the modern artworks. In particular, a painting of a pond filled with flowers captured his attention. He felt a connection to it, and so he walked over to take a closer look.

 

He didn’t expect a familiar person to fall out of the painting, bubblegum hair and clothes dripping with water and what looked like watery paint. Watercolors? He wasn’t sure because his attention had diverted to the many cries of surprise around them and the dazed look on Taeyong’s face.

 

“What the hell,” he mumbles angrily, taking in the situation and trying to quickly come up with a plan that wouldn’t end up with their bullet-riddled bodies in a shoot-out. “I can’t ever get a fucking break with you, huh?” He quickly yanks Taeyong to his feet and pulls into a stumbling run, ignoring his half-hearted protests. “Fucking dumbass, I told you this would happen,” he snaps, searching aggressively for Jungwoo so they could get out before a bigger alarm got raised.

 

“It wasn’t–” Taeyong begins to protest, but Taeil cuts him off.

 

“–It is your fucking fault, you got careless. Now shut up, you’re already drawing attention.” He spies Jungwoo in the tapestry wing and gestures impatiently to him. Jungwoo, to his credit, gauges the situation quickly and hurries to meet them.

 

“You need me to do my thing?”

 

“Wait until we get out so we don’t attract even more suspicion,” Taeil whispers, speed-walking to the exit. “As for you, Mr. I-Won’t-Get-Caught, you’re gonna owe me an explanation. I didn’t just risk my life for you to get nothing in return.” Taeil’s not used to being in a situation like this because he’s always kept himself away from attention, and the intense pressure to make sure they all make it out without getting captured is already stressing him out. His head begins to pound from the increasing influx of lies and truths registering in his head as he loses his control, and his agitation must be visible on his face because Jungwoo grabs his hand reassuringly.

 

“It’ll be okay. They haven’t actually sent anyone after us yet.” It only helps a little, but it’s enough for Taeil to keep it together until they’ve left the museum and ducked into an alley between a nearby sandwich shop and an art store. He wants to lean against the brick walls to rest, but he’s too wound up to really relax at all. He ignores Taeyong’s sharpening expression as he begins to understand what had happened and Jungwoo’s concern, focusing on the relative quiet and calm of the alley to center himself again and ignore the truth and lies he kept identifying instinctively. When he thinks his head won’t split open, he opens his eyes and sighs, holding a hand out for Jungwoo to take. He notices that the watercolor dripping from Taeyong’s clothes and skin had already begun to dry in the wind.

 

“Alright, do your thing. We’ll take the subway from the Civic Center.” To Taeyong, he warns, “Don’t let go of him, or I’ll find a way to kick your spindly ass.” Taeyong narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue, clearly understanding that he would’ve had a way harder time covering for himself. Taeil rolls his eyes in return and grabs Jungwoo’s hand.

 

“Well, this trip was a bust,” Jungwoo says airily in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere between them, and Taeil snorts.

 

“What an understatement.”

 

He’s on edge, not quite expecting the worse but not quite expecting smooth sailing either. He’s pleasantly surprised when they make it to the subway station without a hitch, and even more so when they arrive at his apartment. Jungwoo had kept them invisible until the station, so he knew that being worried that someone had followed them from the museum was a little stupid, but it doesn’t manage to shake the fear that creeps into his head as he unnecessarily fixes little things around the apartment. It’s Taeyong who gives up on his anxious fidgeting and sighs, but that’s not the annoying part because Taeil knew how irritating his constant movements could be. It’s the fact that his sigh sounds like he’s the one suffering, and Taeil is so close to snapping he’s sure that he could compare his control to the thickness of a strand of his hair.

 

“Can you stop pacing and sit down?” he asks in a mixture of boredom and annoyance, and Taeil feels that thread of control snap. Except he doesn’t get angry like he thought he would. Instead, he gets hit with a dizzy spell stronger than any of the ones he’d had as a child or teen, back when he’d still struggled to learn how to keep his ability under control, and he has to lean heavily on a table. He momentarily blacks out and the headache that started in the museum intensifies, and he struggles to think and process his surroundings over his ability, hearing a sudden panicked voice but not knowing if it’s Jungwoo or, unlikely as it is, Taeyong.

 

As if through water, he hears Jungwoo’s name, which means that the panicked voice is Taeyong. The knowledge shocks him enough to block out the stream of truths he’s been registering, but he’s still got a pounding headache and feels about two seconds from crying from the pain, so he manages to inch his way over to the couch with Taeyong’s unwitting help and winces in agony when Jungwoo runs in and starts speaking a touch too loudly.

 

“Shit, what happened? I was gone for a minute!” Taeil understands that he’s freaked out, but the noise isn’t helping him much, and as he curls into his side and tries to avoid moving his head too much, he motions for Jungwoo to lower his voice.

 

“I don’t really know,” Taeyong whispers, a tinge of anxiousness to his tone. “He was pacing exactly how he was before you left, and when I told him to sit down so that he’d stop, he groaned and fell against the table. He didn’t move for a while so I got worried.”

 

“How long?”

 

“It was almost four minutes until I thought something might be wrong. He still has the tear tracks on his cheeks.” He’d been crying? He doesn’t remember that. 

 

“Shit,” Jungwoo mumbles again, and the next thing he knows, there’s a comforting hand running through his hair and he exhales heavily. “Overwhelmed?” he asks softly. Taeil gives a thumbs up instead of nodding, and Jungwoo sighs.

 

“Ok, I’m gonna take the guy to the guest room and come back in a few minutes.” After another ok sign, Taeil stops moving and zones out, trying to settle his mind down. He’s found that quiet and minimal movement give him more control over his own thoughts, and it gets easier to drown out the metaphorical lights in his consciousness. By the time Jungwoo returns, he thinks he’s gotten through the worst of it, and he’s able to stand up with only a little dizziness.

 

“He hasn’t magicked himself out of my apartment yet, right?” he asks faintly, and Jungwoo huffs a laugh.

 

“Actually, he was waiting to see if you were alright. I think you scared him a little.”

 

“He probably thinks I saw the future or something. Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious.” Jungwoo hums in reply, and Taeil enters the guest bedroom to see that, as promised, Taeyong is still sitting there. They look at each other a little awkwardly until Taeil decides that he should at least give him some peace of mind about their recent mishap.

 

“Sorry about that.” He sits down in a nearby chair while Jungwoo settles himself on the floor. “That happened a lot when I was younger and getting used to my abilities. Everyone thought I was a sickly kid because I would faint at the most random times and complain of headaches.” Taeyong raises an eyebrow questioningly.

 

“Then why’d it happen now?”

 

“Still resurfaces every time I’m super stressed or overwhelmed. Jungwoo’s seen me faint at my desk twice while I was an undergrad and once in the library.” Taeil shrugs at the memory, not entirely fond of fainting in public but completely over the fact that it happened. Taeyong, on the other hand, widens his eyes.

 

“That doesn’t sound healthy at all.”

 

“I never said it was. Anyway,” he switches back from uneasily-civilized conversation to interrogation, since that’s more comfortable with Taeyong than whatever awkward friendship they’d just danced around. “Since we made your life so much easier by getting you out of that museum without ending up in jail, why don’t you tell us what you were up to?”

 

As easily as he had, Taeyong slips back into familiarity and answers him with a snort. He ignores Jungwoo’s confused glance up at him. “I think you already have an idea.”

 

“Then do me a favor and tell me I’m right,” Taeil says drily, hoping that Taeyong takes the hint.

 

“I got into a little bit of trouble with some,” he pauses, searching for the right words. “Unsavory delinquents. And before you say anything,” he says pointedly to Jungwoo, “I’m not associated with any gangs. They just decided to pick a fight with me because I crossed their paths. And then the police came and I got stuck in a jail cell for two hours.” There’s something off about the way Taeyong says that, not quite a lie and not quite a truth. He files it away for later observations.

 

“Doesn’t explain why you had to use your ability.”

 

“I’m getting to it, Taeilie,” he shoots back, the nickname clearly said with a mocking intention. “They released me when they realized I didn’t have any connection to the others and my record was clean, but I managed to sneak around using a painting on one of the worker’s desk and got some information about people they have suspicions of being powered.” Taeil sighs exasperatedly and slumps in his seat.

 

“What the fuck?” He looks at Jungwoo, who has his hands lifted up in a shrugging gesture, tilting his head to tell him to continue. “I’m as lost as a goose, Taeil, what’s going on?”

 

“Taeyong uses painting like portals, essentially,” he explains, earning himself a raised eyebrow. “I found that out when he came crashing into my apartment and got paint on my white carpet.”

 

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Taeyong asks testily.

 

“Never.” He turns back to Jungwoo. “And apparently he has a shindig where he acts like a vigilante and puts his own life in danger,” he spits.

 

“I’m trying to save innocent people from being killed, Taeil,” he snarls. “Do you think they should die just because people are afraid that we’ve got powers they don’t?”

 

“Of course I don’t,” Taeil hisses, wanting to stand up but wary about his headache. “But I also don’t think it’s worth putting yourself in danger for.”

 

“Ok, woah, calm down,” Jungwoo asks, standing up and holding his hands out at both of them in an attempt to calm them down. Taeil and Taeyong fume but fall silent. “You obviously have some conflicting opinions, but Taeil, you can’t stop Taeyong from doing what he does.” You don’t have the right to tell him what he can and can’t do, Jungwoo tells him with his eyes, and Taeil huffs and shifts his eyes. He doesn’t like the fact that Taeyong’s putting more at risk than himself, but Jungwoo’s right: he can’t stop him. He isn’t even angry at Taeyong per se, even despite his brash personality, but at how little planning and care went into his espionage attempts.

 

So Taeil, being the selfless asshole he is, offers this.

 

“I’ll help you.” If Taeyong feels more surprise than the slackening of his jaw, he does a good job of hiding it. Even Jungwoo looks at him, baffled by his sudden change of heart. Taeil shrugs, relaxing slightly. “If he’s gonna throw himself into danger and risk getting hurt, someone has to watch out for him. And I’m a doctor.” Jungwoo frowns, not quite understanding the connection between his degree and helping a vigilante.

 

“I’m not so sure I want your help,” Taeyong says, narrowing his eyes.

 

“I can tell truth from lie even if I don’t know anything about the context, Taeyong,” he says, disgruntled. “I think I’m gonna be at least a little useful to you.”

 

“It would’ve been better if you could see the future.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

That’s how it starts, at least. He’s not really sure how it escalated from there.

 

Their arrangement is simple, almost laughably so. Taeyong gets the information, uses Taeil’s house as a getaway location, and Taeil interprets the information Taeyong “borrowed.” He quickly realizes that Taeyong is a lot sneakier than the two rocky attempts he’d seen, and more often than not, it only happens twice a week. He also finds out that a lot of times the police have no basis for suspecting someone and seem to randomly select people they think have connections to the powered.

 

“She’s literally a tech shop owner,” he says, throwing the paper away with disgust after determining that she wasn’t powered. “How is that enough for them to suspect her?” Taeyong crosses her name off of his list and shrugs.

 

“That’s just what they’re like. You know they hate us, but that hate’s driven by their fear of the ‘abnormal’.” He takes a sip of the pomegranate juice Taeil gave him. “You get used to their senseless suspicions.” Taeil huffs angrily and picks up the next piece of paper. “Chenle Zhong has abilities.” He frowns when it rings true in his head.

 

“Write him down.” Taeyong sits straighter and blinks at him for a moment.

 

“Wait, he’s actually got an ability?”

 

“That’s what mine is telling me,” Taeil confirms, setting his lips in a thin line and watching Taeyong write the name in his chicken-scratch handwriting on their list of people to find. “How are you gonna find all these people?”

 

“My brother, Donghyuck, knows anyone and everyone we could ever need. And even if he doesn’t know them, he’s either heard of them from someone or he can snoop on social media. He’s half the reason I’m able to do this. Before you came into the picture, he was the one to try and figure out if there were any signs that the people I found might have abilities.”

 

He hums. “He sounds like he’s had to put up with a lot.”

 

“He’s gone through some things, that’s for sure,” Taeyong snorts, and despite the cloud hanging over them knowing what their goal is, Taeil stifles a smile. When they’re not at each other’s throats for being too conservative and not enough, he thinks that their humor is similar enough to warrant a shaky friendship.

 

Another time, Taeyong asks about his ability. They’re lounging around after finishing their categorizing, Taeil sitting at his desk working on a research paper for his snake experiment and Taeyong lying on the bed, tossing a pillow up and down as they take a breather.

 

“How does it work?” He lifts his head from where he’s hunched over and penning notes into the margins of his lab notebook.

 

“What?”

 

“Your ability,” Taeyong clarifies, holding onto the pillow and turning onto his side to face him. “How does it work?”

 

“Oh.” Taeil blinks Taeyong’s blurry shape into focus, rubbing his eyes and pushing up his glasses in the process. “Well, it needs to be said verbally. That’s the first restriction. Whatever I recognize as truth or lie has to be said by someone, so that’s why I always say the names of the people out loud in a sentence. And vague sentences give vague answers, so if I said the police are dangerous, it’s true in my head, but it can’t tell me what kind of dangerous. Does that make sense?” 

 

Taeyong hums thoughtfully. “It does, a little. So you mean that everything I’m saying is getting processed as truth or lie right now?”

 

“I’ve gotten better at blocking out the more useless truths and lies, but yeah, technically. I’m not actually processing it, though.” Another hum.

 

“I guess it’s pretty useful,” he finally says, causing Taeil to roll his eyes.

 

“Thank goodness,” he responds drily, turning back to his riveting data about the effects of certain reptilian genes and habitat.

 

“I only jest.”

 

“That’s your fancy word quota for the day,” Taeil jokes. It’s Taeyong’s turn to roll his eyes.

 

“Haha. Are you sure you’re not a lit major?”

 

“I’m absolutely not a lit major, but Yoonie is.”

 

“Of course you would actually know someone who’s a lit major.”

 

Taeil is perfectly fine with this tentative friendship. They’re not extremely close, but they’re not strangers anymore, and that’s about all he can ask from the both of them when they had such a rough start. Everything is pretty much smooth sailing.

 

Except for the times when his thoughts stray and start to think about how Taeyong’s hair looks especially fluffy some days. Or that his laugh sounds so genuine and light-hearted that he wants to hear it more. Or how he twirls his pencil on his fingers when he’s deep in thought. And he tells himself that those observations are completely platonic because there’s no way in hell that he’s going to finish his first grad year with an emotional crisis. Kun calls bullshit on that.

 

“Remember when you broke down sophomore year because you realized you were in love with Jungwoo?” he says when Taeil brings up the topic of his unwanted thoughts. He recoils from his friend as if he’d poked him with a hot iron rod.

 

“Do you really have to bring up that dilemma?” he asks forlornly, covering his face as if it would block out the memories. He really didn’t feel like remembering sophomore year.

 

“Yeah, because otherwise you won’t realize that what you’re feeling is real and normal!” Kun sighs and leans forward against the table. “Admit it Taeil, you have a crush. What you do with that is up to you.” He stops, thinks about what he just said, and grimaces. “Actually, knowing you, you’ll ignore the fact that you have a crush.”

 

“You know me so well,” Taeil praises lightly, taking a bite of his banana bread.

 

“Maybe you should actually do something about it.”

 

“How about I’ll do something about it when I die?”

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

Taeil thinks he handles the knowledge well. He doesn’t change his behavior around Taeyong to avoid suspicion, and he keeps his staring to – what he hopes is – a minimum. He makes sure to avoid any sudden gay panics by keeping his hands as far away from Taeyong as possible. Everything is going fine. Taeyong’s pink hair is growing out and his roots are showing, and it endears Taeil in a way he thinks it really shouldn’t, but everything is going fine.

 

Nothing is ever fine for long, especially for Moon Taeil, so it’s less of a surprise than it should be when everything starts going downhill faster than he can blink.

 

Taeyong had come up with the idea that they should scout out people with potential abilities and see if they can get ahead of the police game. It’s pretty fool-proof considering he can just ask Taeil whether the person has abilities, as long as he’s specific enough, but he feels uneasy thinking about it. For some reason, he feels like it’s going to end up in a disaster. He doesn’t ask himself if it’s true because that’ll only make him more anxious, but the feeling doesn’t go away. When Taeyong gives him that look, though, the one that’s half-pleading with him to agree, Taeil realizes that he’s a weak man and that Taeyong is too smart for his own good. Maybe even smarter than he realizes he is.

 

That’s what led them here, to a small café where they’d bought themselves a cup of coffee each and a lemon tart to share. As they progressed through the first hour, though, Taeyong had completely given up on any sort of systematic conclusions and had started asking Taeil about every single person. Which, in his opinion, completely undermined the goal they’d originally set, but if it worked, then who was he to judge?

 

“Is the lady in the red jacket eating a cookie a powered? She gives me elemental vibes.” Taeil sighs and breaks off a corner of the lemon tart.

 

“You can’t just say everyone gives you a powered vibe,” he says wearily, eating the piece he’d broken off. “To answer your question, though, she’s not.”

 

Taeyong groans and leans back in his chair. “This is exhausting,” he complains. He reaches for the tart from his position, but his fingers fall just short of the edge of the plate and he whines dramatically. It makes Taeil roll his eyes, and he takes pity on him and breaks a piece of the pastry off to give to Taeyong. He was only going to put it in Taeyong’s hand so he could eat it on his own. That plan falls through quickly when Taeyong drops his hand and stares at Taeil with expecting eyes. He stares back, unblinking, and tries to figure out what Taeyong wants.

 

“Did you not want the lemon tart?” he asks hesitantly, running a hand through his hair and letting the swoop of his undercut fall back into place. A twinkle alights in Taeyong’s eyes, the way the sun rises during dawn, and he tilts his head.

 

“I’m tired,” he says cheekily, “so can you feed me?” Taeil’s brain short circuits, and what feels like the longest two minutes of his life were probably two seconds before he can even begin to form a response. What comes out resembles more of a strangled, “Huh?”

 

It’s not a very difficult request, Taeil thinks, but it’s so sudden and out-of-line of their typical banter that he doesn’t know what to make of it. It would be stupid to jump to the conclusion that he means anything deeper than close friendship. Of course, he decides, that’s what it is. They’re close enough that saying something that borders on suggestive is fine. He doesn’t notice that Taeyong is frowning now, leaning to sit up from his slumped position. The hand that waves in front of his unfocused gaze snaps him back to reality, and he sputters a variety of apologies for zoning off. He hopes that his face isn’t nearly as red as it feels like it is.

 

“You okay?” Taeyong asks with a raised eyebrow, the same downturn of his lips still there. Taeil stares at his lips for longer than he really should have before reminding himself that he needs to respond like a decent human being, irrational crush be damned.

 

“Yeah,” he croaks, wincing at how dry his throat feels and subtly taking a large sip from his iced tea. “Perfectly fine.” He almost adds on that he’s peachy, but it would’ve sounded like he was trying too hard. Taeyong looks like he’s on just the other side of being convinced, but he drops the topic, which is more than a small relief.

 

“Anyway,” he continues, taking a piece of the tart on his own and lifting it to his mouth, all the while scanning the coffee shop. “Do you think that–”

 

Taeyong’s abrupt pause confuses Taeil, who immediately looks up from his plate to try and find what the cause is. The first thing he sees is that Taeyong’s jaw is clenched tightly and his eyes are narrowed. The second thing he sees, when he follows Taeyong’s line of sight, are two burly men who had just entered the shop. He glances between him and the men uneasily, trying to figure out why Taeyong’s reaction was so bad.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he whispers, trying to avoid drawing attention to them by talking too loudly. Taeyong doesn’t look at him, but he does twist his mouth into a grimace.

 

“We can’t stay here,” he whispers back, finally tearing his gaze away from the men in line. His eyes are full of shifting fear and hard dots of anger, and it makes Taeil fearful too.

 

“Are they dangerous?” he asks, almost regretting how the question tumbles out of him.

 

“More dangerous than you could ever imagine,” Taeyong replies grimly, and he shivers at the chill of truth behind it. Taeyong stands up in a way that could be deemed casual and gathers up the remains of their coffee and tart, walking over to the trash and tossing it in. When he comes over, he grabs Taeil’s wrist and lightly tugs him to get him to stand up.

 

“Follow me, don’t make a scene,” he mumbles under his breath, smoothing his expression out. The plan is all fine and dandy, Taeil thinks, but the lump in his stomach is telling him it’s not going to go very smoothly. He’s confirmed when one of the men turns around with a smirk, lips curled like a predator who knows he has his prey trapped.

 

“Hey, TY,” the man calls, voice scratchy and uncomfortably rough, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. It takes him a little longer than he’d like to admit to relate Taeyong’s name to the initials TY even though the man is, quite evidently, talking directly to him. The stand-off causes some other people in line to turn and look at them curiously, and Taeyong seems to shrink under the added pairs of eyes. “Long time no see, huh? Did you enjoy your little game of cat and mouse?” the same man taunts, and then his companion turns around.

 

“We’ve found you now, little mouse,” he grunts, deeper than the first but no less grinding, and now more people are looking at them, both out of confusion and vague unsettlement. Taeil scans the crowd wildly, searching for more people who might be in on – whatever this is.

 

“You may have found me,” Taeyong replies tensely, “but you’re not gonna catch me.” And then he bolts out the door, the hand clamped around Taeil’s wrist dragging him along.

 

He stumbles the first few steps before matching Taeyong’s speed, quickly catching up and running side by side to get away faster. With each step, he feels his heart beat spike, and it doesn’t take long for him to narrow his whole focus to running as fast he can. The fleeting thought that he should ask Taeyong what the men wanted from him disappears in the time it takes to breathe fitfully. They weave in and out of the crowd, running on the streets when they can’t push through people.

 

“Right!” Taeyong yells after they’ve run five blocks, and Taeil follows instinctively, using his hands to stop himself from running straight into the exterior of the shop Taeyong had told him to turn to. He looks up in confusion, the adrenalin preventing him from freaking out too much, and sees a sign that says “Ophelia’s Oddities.” Taeyong appears next to him a second later and wrenches the door open, dragging him aside and out of sight of the street.

 

When they’re inside, Taeil leans against a nearby wall and sags, panting heavily to start breathing normally again. Taeyong is only slightly better than him, still standing upright, but he’s got his hands on his knees and is struggling just like him to regain his breath. It takes longer than he would’ve liked, still hyper-aware of the fact that the men from the café could burst in and confront them, but his heart slows its frantic beating and he begins to breathe more easily. When he stands up, there’s only a little weakness in his legs.

 

He wants to ask Taeyong about the men. Why they knew his name, why they called him by a nickname, why they wanted to catch him. There’s something about his past that Taeyong isn’t telling him – has avoided telling him, in fact, never letting their conversations stray into that territory – but what comes out instead of all those questions is something entirely different.

 

“What is this place?” A ghost of a smile creeps over Taeyong’s lips and he straightens up, cracks his back leisurely as if they hadn’t just been running for their lives, and waves him inside.

 

“It’s an oddity shop I found ages ago,” he confides, leading him past aging books with purple, blue, and green covers. Their gold-leaf pages glimmer in the light. “Back when I was in my third year of high school.”

 

“You grew up in San Francisco?” Taeil asks, mildly surprised. He hadn’t known this particular information about Taeyong, and looking back on it, he wondered how it never got brought up.

 

Taeyong grins. “Yeah, I did. I know a lot of parts of this city like the back of my hand.” At this, his smile fades a little, but Taeil doesn’t bring it up. He just smiles and nods, the way he’s always been taught to hide his expressions as a child. “I liked the paintings it had in the back. They’re kind of dark, but I had a.” He pauses awkwardly, and Taeil assumes he’s trying to word it right. “A phase.”

 

It takes a moment to process, but the mental image that Taeil creates makes him laugh with reckless abandon. “I’m sorry,” he says with breathless sighs, “but all I can think is that you managed to have both a furry and emo phase at once.” Taeyong freezes and turns to Taeil with such a terrified face that he can only wheeze and laugh harder.

 

“What?” The abject horror in his voice sends Taeil to the floor, where he alternates lying on his side and back until he feels like the laughing has actually given him abs. “Why would you ever think about those two things together?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, choking on the remnants of breathlessness, “it really was the only thing I could think of.” Taeyong, with all the disgust he can muster, stomps down the hall, far away from Taeil, who hurriedly tries to stand up and chase after him. “I already said I’m sorry!” he calls, his smile never dying even as Taeyong shoots him a look of betrayal.

 

“You can never apologize for what you’ve done, Taeilie.” The nickname slips out so easily, so fondly, that neither of them point it out, but Taeil’s eyes sharpen, the mischievous look fading into something questioning and hesitant. If Taeyong notices the change, he doesn’t show it. Instead, in the silence that falls over them, he turns to the back wall, lined with paintings of all sorts of scenes. The one thing they have in common, he notices, is that they’re all depictions of misery and tragedy. Crumbling buildings, bare trees, the black palette – it all screams emo in his face.

 

“You weren’t lying when you said you had a phase,” Taeil comments idly, wandering down the row to take a closer look at all the paintings. He’s stopped by Taeyong’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Sorry to ruin the gallery walk,” he says, an eyebrow arched, “but we’re still trying to escape.”

 

“Right,” Taeil mumbles, only half listening. He’s still trying to figure out why these paintings mattered so much to Taeyong. He feels a hand slip into his own, and he absently squeezes it gently.

 

It comes to mind that the only person the hand could belong to is Taeyong, and he suddenly feels like he’s so hot that he’s regressed to freezing. Every sense is on high alert and he feels goosebumps on his skin, but he doesn’t get too much time to think about the fact that Taeyong –  the same person he’d spent the first two months of knowing each other hating with a burning passion – was holding his hand. His paintbrush was already in hand, never far from reach, and he was repeating the same process as when Taeil had first seen him disappear inside a painting.

 

“Hang on,” is the only warning he gets.

 

He doesn’t know what he expected to feel while traveling through a painting. He hadn’t thought about it, but if he had, he wouldn’t have been this. It’s like a warp tunnel, he manages to think hazily beyond the streaks of color in his vision. Everything’s bright, overwhelmingly so, and the disorientation has him losing focus on what’s in front of him. Not that it really would’ve mattered because he can’t even see Taeyong through the colors. The only grounding presence is Taeyong’s hand intertwined in his own, warm and solid.

 

Taeil also learns that Taeyong doesn’t fall out of paintings on accident. It’s an art, he realizes, to fall out of a painting with anything even resembling dignity when it feels like you’re being thrown out of it like a rag doll. The only luxury he has for his first disgraceful exit is that it happens in his own apartment, in his bedroom, just like the very first time. It’s like a circle. They lay there for some time, letting their senses settle and their ears stop ringing.

 

“Did you hit your head? You keep mumbling about circles.”

 

“Did I say it out loud?” he asks in return, still waiting for his thoughts to stop spinning.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know why though.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” They’re still holding hands. Taeil doesn’t know what to think. But then he remembers how they ended up here, and he breathes in sharply.

 

“Taeyong, what did they want from you?” The amusement on Taeyong’s face falls away.

 

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” he says cryptically, standing up and offering a hand for Taeil to take. “But I cut contact with them years ago, so I’m not involved with them anymore.” He’s telling the truth, Taeil thinks, so he takes the offered hand. He doesn’t push the topic further, and Taeyong doesn’t offer anything else.

 

Weeks later, Taeyong has a proposition to make.

 

“We should go and visit my brother,” he says, in a way that sounds a little too purposeful to be by chance. Taeil stops clicking away at his laptop and looks up, wondering if he’d heard him right. He’d invited him over because Jungwoo was on a blind date and he didn’t want to be bored, but getting asked to meet family is something he’s completely unprepared for. It also feels like jumping the gun because they aren’t even dating. Taeil hasn’t said a word about how he feels for Taeyong, so there’s no reason to be meeting his family. He realizes he’s been silent for too long, milling around in his own head, when Taeyong calls his name.

 

“Oh, sorry. Yeah totally, I’m up to meet your brother.” It feels awkward on his tongue, knowing that this kind of situation can’t be taken out of context. It’s nothing more than a simple offer, just to get to know each other better. Taeil would’ve definitely offered the same thing if they were in Arizona.

 

He needs to stop thinking. “Did you know that the reason the U.S. is in perpetual debt is all because of the financial plan developed by Alexander Hamilton?” The sudden history fact – he isn’t exactly sure where it came from, but he’s thankful because it interrupts his thoughts – surprises Taeyong enough to make him look up from his sketchbook.

 

“Where did that come from?” His lips are turned down in a confused frown, and his pencil stops moving while he waits for Taeil’s response.

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “it just happens sometimes. I say some pretty random things.” Only when I’m comfortable, is something Taeil leaves unsaid, because it implies a level of closeness to Taeyong that he isn’t sure he wants to announce. Taeyong takes the response and nods sagely.

 

“So it’s like the circles,” he says, eyes back on the paper.

 

“Please let that go.” The laughter that follows from Taeyong tells him that he wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.

 

Taeil doesn’t have time to go cruising around the city for two whole weeks after that conversation. His multiple theses are due, exams are taken, and basic needs like sleep and eating are ignored. The only reason he didn’t pass out walking from his desk to the bathroom is because Kun made a point to come over every two days to monitor his health, even though Taeil was supposed to be the med major. It always amused him how intensely and aggressively Kun cared for him and Jungwoo until he had to experience practically being force fed. Not quite so literally as Kun shoving a spoon in his mouth, but the way he glares at Taeil whenever he tries to protest about wasting time is almost the same thing. Jungwoo, being the amazing friend he is, only laughs at his impression of a kicked puppy, legs up on the coffee table leisurely because his exams finished the week before.

 

They can’t go until the first week of June. The heat is sweltering, but it’s not nearly entering wildfire season yet. That’s a problem because it means it’s perfectly acceptable for Taeyong to wear muscle tanks that show off his arms and shoulders, and Taeil is having a hard time hiding his massive crush. Which is a major problem because Taeyong can’t know, but Taeil’s eyes rarely stray from his figure, so it’s only a matter of time before he realizes why.

 

But Taeyong still looks at him with the same bright smile whenever he looks at him, so he has time before the awkwardness between them reveals itself. For now, he takes the glances he can get: of how Taeyong’s hair falls into his face when he’s too busy sketching to pay attention, of how his biceps flex at the simplest of movements, of how his eyes always have a shine when he looks at Taeil. He hopes, foolishly, that it’s reserved for him and him alone.

 

It’s a similarly hot June day when Taeyong picks him up in a car, one that Taeil can only assume is his own, to drive them to visit Taeyong’s parents’ house on the outskirts of the city. He narrows his eyes as he gets in and gives Taeyong a questioning stare.

 

“Hey, I have a stable job outside of being a vigilante, I’ll have you know,” he defends himself indignantly, drawing a stifled laugh from Taeil.

 

“I never said that! I’m only wondering why you own a car at all when you live in San Francisco. The traffic jams aren’t worth it.”

 

After mulling it over for a few seconds, Taeyong concedes, “You’re right, but it’s convenient when I have to go out of town instead of paying for an Uber or Lyft.”

 

At some point in the drive, Taeyong turns the radio on, and after fiddling with it, they relax to the latest hip-hop music. More than once, Taeil catches himself beginning to sing or rap along with songs he recognizes, but he stops himself as soon as he realizes it. Taeyong notices, something that Taeil finds as unfortunate as it is fortunate.

 

“Why do you always stop yourself?”

 

“What do you mean?” He aims for nonchalance, although he misses it by about a mile.

 

“You keep stopping yourself from singing. Why?”

 

“Force of habit. I haven’t properly used my voice since senior year of high school when I was in the school choir.” He hears a snort and then laughter from Taeyong, and he wills himself not to blush when he looks at him and sees the smile stretched across his face.

 

“Oh come on, Taeilie, I’m probably three times worse than you even on your bad day. You’ll sound like an angel to me.”

 

Taeil knows he looks like a strawberry. After a double kill of being called Taeilie and an angel, he knows he’s a goddamn goner. But it doesn’t stop him from changing the radio station to one that he knows plays a lot of Frank Ocean, and it doesn’t stop him from singing to it like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and it doesn’t stop Taeyong from taking his eyes off the road every so often for the shortest of seconds to glance at the absolute abandon on Taeil’s face – completely unbeknownst to Taeil himself.

 

The house that Taeyong’s parents live in is a well-kept, two-story building with a pale green exterior that would look odd on any house not in California. By virtue of its location, it looks considerably less out of place than the neon-pink house they passed by three blocks down. Taeyong had informed him that it belongs to an elderly lady named Mrs. Parker and that she always gave the best Halloween candy, so he supposes that he can’t hate on the color scheme too much. The houses here have less of a backyard and more of an alley in the back, and they’re so close you could probably jump out of the window of one and land on the windowsill of the house next door.

 

“Are your parents expecting us?” he asks curiously as Taeyong pulls into the driveway and turns off the engine.

 

“Nah, they’re both on a business trip for their company. Donghyuck’s responsible enough to take care of the house for a week or two, although he’s not so great at taking care of himself. Kind of why I asked you to come with me.” He nods understandingly, well aware of Donghyuck’s situation after having been in it multiple times. “Come on, we’ll have to see if he’s even home right now. Chances are that Mark and Renjun are driving him around town.” His concerns are unfounded – the door opens immediately to a sunny smile, and if Taeil was any less prepared for anything he might experience, he might have fallen in love on the spot. Donghyuck glows, radiates a charm that he knows could entrance anyone in less than a second. But for some reason, the charm that he knows should have him on his knees leaves him almost completely unaffected. It’s curious how Donghyuck’s ability seems to have no power over him.

 

“Did you warn him?” he whines to Taeyong, breaking Taeil out of his thoughts. Taeyong only laughs before hugging Donghyuck, squeezing him visibly and causing Donghyuck to audibly whisper, “Oof.”

 

“Of course I warned him about you, Hyuck.” Ruffling his brother’s hair, Taeyong motions Taeil forward. “Taeil, this is Donghyuck.” Donghyuck’s eyes light up and he jumps to hug Taeil as well, catching him by surprise.

 

In his ear, he hears Donghyuck mumble, “Taeyong talks about you pretty obsessively.” The way his body stiffens from the truth that gets confirmed in his head must be too obvious because Taeyong indignantly asks Donghyuck what he said. The perpetrator only offers a knowing smirk to Taeil before bouncing inside. “Come on in!”

 

“I’m sorry about him,” Taeyong apologizes as they follow Donghyuck, but Taeil tries his best to shrug it off and smile.

 

“It’s fine, he just caught me off guard.” An understatement is what that sentence was. He wasn’t sure what to think about what Donghyuck told him, so he took the easy way out and decided he wouldn’t think about it at all. Better to live in denial that there was even a chance of Taeyong feeling the same than to keep an inkling of hope.

 

“Want anything to drink, Taeil?” Donghyuck’s voice is slightly muffled by his head in the fridge.

 

“I’m okay,” he replies, using Taeyong as a guide of how to act in his house. “How old are you, Donghyuck?”

 

“Seventeen!” he chirps, joining the two of them in the living room. “Finishing high school this year too. I’m going to NYU after I graduate.” The pride that flashes across Taeyong’s face distracts him from Donghyuck, but it doesn’t stop him from sharing his excitement at hearing the news. Donghyuck puffs up like a bird and pulls a smile across Taeil’s face.

 

“He’s worked his ass off all four years to be able to get in,” Taeyong says, slinging an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders and pulling him in. “I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am, Hyuckie.”

 

“Well, you can start by getting me a slice of pie,” Donghyuck pipes happily, giggling when Taeyong fakes offense.

 

“So you’re just going to use me like that. I’m hurt, Hyuck.” The younger rolls his eyes, and Taeil knows he’s actually got a smile on his face now. Their dynamic amuses him to no end, how easily they banter without any malice.

 

“Just get me my pie, Taeyong,” he retorts while shoving Taeyong off the couch. After getting up, wounded puppy eyes and all, he disappears into the kitchen, and Donghyuck immediately switches couches to sit next to Taeil. He eyes him critically, and the way Donghyuck stares at him has Taeil squirming restlessly in his seat.

 

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” Donghyuck starts.

 

“I know,” is Taeil’s blunt, uneasy reply. “I could tell.”

 

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it. “Then you should know that you should do something about it.”

 

“Did Taeyong tell you about me?”

 

“Of course he did,” he snorts, “although he meant it more as a warning to not lie to you at all. My point still stands.”

 

“Donghyuck, talking about me all the time doesn’t mean he likes me.” He keeps his voice low so that Taeyong doesn’t overhear them. He knows how words can be twisted to mean one thing and not another, turning a lie into a truth or a truth into a lie.

 

“Fine, let me say it more straightforward way,” Donghyuck deadpans. “He’s said multiple times that he likes you, and four days ago he texted me and said he might love you.” Taeil’s mind latches onto “four days,” and he speaks without really thinking.

 

“It wasn’t four days ago.” When Donghyuck tilts his head, he continues robotically. “He didn’t say it four days ago. You’re not remembering the date right.”

 

“Is that all you focused on?”

 

“Well excuse you, I need time to process!” Taeil protests. In the middle of their miniature argument, Taeyong calls from Donghyuck from the kitchen.

 

“What flavor do you want? Cherry or strawberry rhubarb?”

 

“Did it really take you that long to find it?” Donghyuck yells back.

 

“Just tell me!”

 

“Strawberry rhubarb!” He turns back to Taeil and says, “Listen I’m sure this whole ‘unrequited pining’ deal you’ve had going for however long has been amazing, but you should really make a move now.”

 

There’s still question in the back of his head, begging to be asked before the chance slips away. “How do you even know I like him?”

 

“You weren’t affected by my charm, which only happens if you love someone else. I can already tell by the way you look at him that you love him.” The rest of their conversation is cut off by Taeyong coming back with three plates of pie, an apologetic smile directed to Taeil.

 

“I didn’t know what pie you might have preferred, but I got you strawberry rhubarb since it’s the less overwhelming of the two flavors.” Taeil manages a tight grin in response and takes the plate. Donghyuck hums as he bites his own pie, eyes closed. Taeyong shakes his head, albeit fondly, and sits on the couch across from them. Taeil can’t help but glance at him with every bite and wonder if he maybe has a chance.

 

He holds that hope close to his heart, afraid of letting it grow and take on a mind of its own. He’ll keep it sheltered for as long as he needs to.

 

It’s not exactly eye-opening for Taeil afterward. He still keeps his gaze off of Taeyong as much as possible, he still invites him on more and more frequent outings, and he still keeps their relationship as similar as possible to the time before Donghyuck planted the seed of hope in him. It’s not that he isn’t dying to hold Taeyong’s hand again – it’s more like he’s not ready for it. Not ready for his world to spin in any other direction.

 

“Taeil, you’re being ridiculous,” Jungwoo complains, his head in Taeil’s lap while they watch Game of Thrones – not because they actually follow the show, but because it was the only thing that they thought was worth even a pinch of their attention after they’d checked the other channels. “You can’t keep dancing around Taeyong.”

 

“Not true. I could do this my whole life if I need to, Woo.” He keeps his eyes on the screen of their TV, unwilling to look at Jungwoo and give himself away. He doesn’t need Jungwoo to know he’s lying to himself.

 

He huffs. “Doesn’t mean you should!” he says, emphasizing the “should.” “Maybe then you can go on a real date and stop whining to me every time you come back from a hangout about how much you wished it was one.” The blush that reddens his ears makes Taeil slap a hand over Jungwoo’s mouth, effectively cutting off any further attempts to “suggest” that he ask Taeyong out. Jungwoo doesn’t struggle, oddly enough, and that should be Taeil’s first sign that he’d already gotten what he wanted.

 

It doesn’t leave his mind. He keeps cycling back to it, repeats both Donghyuck’s and Jungwoo’s words over and over. It’s not like he’s never imagined what a date between him and Taeyong would be like, and he’s definitely thought about what it would be like to be his boyfriend. Taeyong has always been about saying the words that matter, rarely uses his actions to convey his feelings to people. He appreciates that in a kind of twisted way – he never has to think too hard about what Taeyong really means, always has the answer presented to him clear as day.

 

He thinks about it so much that it becomes the only thing to cross his mind when he sees Taeyong. He thinks about it so much that it’s the only thing that he can imagine them doing when they’re leaving his apartment and enter the elevator. He thinks about it so much that when he realizes that Taeyong is looking at him expectantly for an answer, he lets it slip.

 

“I want to take you out on a date.”

 

He’s never seen Taeyong look so taken aback before. In an attempt to seem more casual, he leans against the wall of the elevator, but his nerves are skyrocketing and he feels his heart racing. What if Donghyuck was wrong? What if he’d been mistaken about Taeyong having a crush on him and all his words had gotten twisted? As the silence stretched, Taeil felt his heart sink more and more.

 

“I–Do you mean that?” Taeyong finally chokes out, eyes wide and unbelieving. Taeil licks his lips and then bites them uncertainly.

 

“Yeah,” he says, quieter than before. If anything, it leaves Taeyong even more baffled.

 

“You’re serious? One hundred percent? You want to take me out on a date?” It sounds more like Taeyong is trying to convince himself of the situation, so Taeil offers a simple, brief nod before letting him soak it in. He only takes his eyes off of him when the elevator doors chime and open up on the ground floor. Taeil hopes that he’ll be able to walk out without collapsing on legs that feel like jelly, and he’s pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t faceplant on the carpet. His nausea makes a comeback, unrelentingly twisting his stomach into knots.

 

“Ok,” Taeyong says airily.

 

He blinks. “Ok?”

 

Taeyong isn’t looking at him, but the tips of his ears are turning the same shade of his hair as he walks briskly in front of him. “Yeah. Ok.”

 

He has to bite back the smile that threatens to split his face. “Then let’s go.” Taeyong turns to face him then, eyes wide and prepared to question him despite the obvious blush still on his face. “It’s my turn to take you somewhere and show you a good time.”

 

Taeil has been wanting to bring him here for some time, ever since he’d discovered it on a 3 am stroll a few months ago. The moment he’d entered, he felt the warm atmosphere of the shop envelope him, a mixture of sweet and savory scents hitting him at once. The delicacies range from baked herbal loaves of bread to cupcakes to ice cream, and the rustic appearance of the shop keeps the homey-feeling intact. It screams the vintage vibe that he knows Taeyong falls in love with in two heartbeats.

 

Taeyong’s reaction doesn’t disappoint when he sees the shop in all its glory. Taeil leads him to the door with the name “Bakery Witches” stenciled on it, and he already feels the palpable excitement radiating off of him. Taeyong is left speechless by the design of the interior – one wall is completely bricked up with twisting vines all over it, one with dark, wooden paneling with pictures of different landscapes all over it, and the bakery counter has small ledges on the wall behind it for the plates on which the baked goods rest with small glass cages covering them. The grip of Taeyong’s hand in his tightens, and he glances over at him. There’s awe etched into his face, stars twinkling in his eyes, and Taeil thinks that if this is what dating Taeyong is like, he would never get tired of it.

 

“How did you find this place?” he asks in a whisper, as if to maintain the magic of the moment.

 

“It was an accident. A lucky one.” He squeezes the hand in his own. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

One date turns into two, and two turns into three. Taeyong is easily pleased, he discovers, either because he appreciates the effort or because he truly loves everything Taeil has to offer. Whatever the case, Taeil enjoys himself, enjoys the closeness and the fact that he can finally forget about the heaviness that had stuck to him since he first realized he liked Taeyong.

 

But a single question continues to plague him. He brings it up on their fourth date, in the middle of the movie they had chosen to watch – Howl’s Moving Castle, typical of Taeyong’s love for Studio Ghibli and typical of Taeil’s softness for Taeyong. As Howl breaks down over the color of his hair, he turns his head to look at Taeyong, taking a moment to collect himself and admire how the light plays on Taeyong’s face. He’d redyed his hair, he notices, and it’s a much more vibrant pink now.

 

“What happened in your past, Yongie?” It comes out as a whisper, and Taeil almost believes that Taeyong didn’t hear him over the movie. But then he sighs and shifts, maneuvering so that he can easily look Taeil in the eyes.

 

“It was bound to come up, huh?” He squints in the dark to get a better look at Taeil, and he feels a blush dust his cheeks from the intensity, even though he knows that wasn’t the intent. He puffs his cheeks out and exhales heavily, reaching out an unsure hand to clasp Taeil’s. “I guess I should start off by saying I was a stupid hormonal teenager.”

 

He snorts. “Weren’t we all?”

 

“I was worse though,” he responds with a light laugh. “I’d discovered my ability at fourteen, and obviously I lived a pretty sheltered life. I knew that people got killed for having abilities, but I didn’t know how. Wasn’t until I was sixteen that I realized how brutal the police were and I realized that even in hiding I wasn’t safe.” He scratches his neck bashfully. “I got upset.” He must’ve noticed the face Taeil pulled, a knowing grimace, and it forces a choked laugh out of him that he quickly cuts off by biting his lip.

 

“Yeah, it was exactly as bad as you’re thinking. I haven’t really changed much in that light. I got involved with a gang because I thought that would be the best way to antagonize the police, ya know?” He sighs, shifts for the second time so that he could comfortably rest his head on Taeil’s shoulder. “That idea fell through, but I’d already gotten roped in, and I was seventeen and scared shitless. I had to stick with them for another two years before I found a way out, but they hold grudges.”

 

“So that’s why they’re still looking for you?”

 

“It must be. I thought five years would be enough time for them to find a bigger fish to catch.”

 

Taeil hums, rests his head on Taeyong’s. “Why didn’t you move?”

 

“My parents would’ve questioned it too much. I couldn’t uproot my life for no obvious reason.” He lets it die after that, lets the rest of the night flow uninterrupted with a Studio Ghibli marathon and Thai takeout. He’s satisfied with the answer he’d gotten. He thinks Taeyong appreciates that too – the tension that had rested in his shoulders loosened as he put Princess Mononoke on after Howl’s Moving Castle finished, and an arm falls to hug his waist.

 

It feels like nothing’s changed and at the same time everything’s been turned upside down. There’s still an awkward limbo they find themselves stuck in, pushing and pulling and unsure if they’ve gone too far or not far enough. He’s not sure what they mean to each other, even though they’re obviously past the point of “just friends.”

 

On their seventh date, he senses a shift in Taeyong’s attitude. When he picks him up, determination is clear in every one of his movements, from how he deftly laces their fingers together to how he greets him with a kiss on the cheek. It’s almost embarrassing how dizzy Taeil feels from his upfront gestures, smiling like a fool and probably acting like one too. Taeyong is always the more reserved one, keeping to himself until he’s coaxed to open up, but he can’t say he isn’t opposed to the change.

 

“Where are we going?” he asks in an attempt to change the direction of his thoughts. Taeyong gives him a quick side glance before smirking.

 

“It’s gonna be a surprise, Taeilie,” he teases. Taeil huffs, suddenly irked by the secrecy shrouding their date. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?”

 

“No,” he mumbles, letting Taeyong pull him along to the metro station.

 

“Then stop worrying! It’ll be great.” He finally relaxes his grip on Taeyong’s hand and accepts the fact that he’s walking into this date practically blind. Taeyong watches the train signs carefully to make sure they don’t miss the one they’re supposed to take, and Taeil watches the people that pass by and plays with Taeyong’s fingers to pass the time. Another ten minutes later, Taeyong tugs his hand to point out that their train had arrived.

 

“Might wanna get comfortable,” he jokes as they enter one of the cars. “The ride is supposed to take 47 minutes.” Theatrically, Taeil groans and lets his head fall heavily onto Taeyong’s shoulder, making him laugh. “Yeah, yeah, drama king. You’ll love it.”

 

He falls asleep at some point, lulled by the continuous clamor of the train and Taeyong’s warmth. At their stop, Taeyong gently shakes him and he opens his eyes blearily, mumbling something along the lines of “I’m getting up.” Taeyong’s faint giggle cuts through his sleepy daze, and he instinctually smiles. He follows Taeyong out of the car and squints through the sunlight to make out the “San Francisco Zoo” sign that was in front of them before beginning to hop in place.

 

“We’re really going to the zoo?” he confirms, pulling Taeyong forward. He didn’t wait for a response, excitedly chattering about how he couldn’t wait to finally see the tropical bird exhibits and see the big cat enclosures. He’s so busy looking at the zoo that he doesn’t see Taeyong’s soft smile.

 

After they pay for their tickets, Taeil takes the lead without argument and immediately heads toward the South American section of the zoo, intent on seeing the tropical birds before everything else. Taeyong provides no resistance, allowing Taeil to flit wherever he wants at his own will. He takes a few pictures of him with animals in the background, in weird poses, and candids where Taeil is calm, happy, and unaware.

 

“Taeilie,” he calls after taking one such photo. “Come and look at this one.” He quirks an eyebrow but comes over anyway, leaning over to look at the picture on Taeyong’s phone.

 

“Ah, I look so awkward,” he says with a pout, scrunching his nose. Taeyong tilts his head.

 

“Why do you think that?”

 

“My hair is all over the place and my shirt looks out of place.” He smiles at that, surprising Taeil.

 

“But none of that matters. It’s about how happy you look.” He supposes Taeyong is right. He looks content in the picture, leaning on the rail and watching the peafowl walk past with awe apparent in the shape of his mouth. He glances back at the birds for a moment, etching the emotion he had felt into his memories to return to on a later day.

 

“Pictures are supposed to convey a story,” Taeyong adds, “and I think this is a worthwhile one.” Truth, his mind supplies him needlessly.

 

“Which story?” he pushes as they continue. Taeyong doesn’t reply for a bit, letting them walk in appreciative silence and admire the environment the zoo had created.

 

“Ours.”

 

Taeil blinks at him owlishly. “Why would you want to tell our story?”

 

“Because I love you enough to do that.” Truth, he realizes, and it makes him stop suddenly, too shocked to continue.

 

“I–Really?”

 

“If you’ll let me?” The smile on Taeil’s face must be answer enough because Taeyong’s expression mirrors his own. “Does this make us boyfriends then?”

 

“Not until you ask me properly, Yongie,” Taeil jests, not really thinking about what he said.

 

“Alright.” Taeyong grabs Taeil’s hand and lifts it up, almost like he’s about to kiss it. “Taeil Moon, will you allow me the honor of becoming your boyfriend?” Unexpectedly, Taeil feels a rush of boldness, which must be why he responds so cheekily.

 

“Only if you’ll kiss me in return.”

 

“That can be arranged,” Taeyong hums, eyes alight with mirth, “boyfriend.”

 

Taeil’s lips are full of laughter when Taeyong presses his first kiss to them, light with the promise of many more to come.

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/timelessidyll)   
>  [my curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/timelessidyll)


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